


death do us part

by Authoress



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Dancing in the Rain, First Time, Graduation Blues, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Angst, THE TITLE IS MISLEADING THERE'S NO DEATH, lots of childishness and feelings, mutual handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 16:27:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6964279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Authoress/pseuds/Authoress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iwaizumi's bad at the feelings thing, which is unfortunate since Oikawa and sentiment go hand in hand. </p>
<p>But still, if anyone's going to break down Oikawa's walls and find out what's wrong, it has to be Iwaizumi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	death do us part

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meyoco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meyoco/gifts).



> this is a commission for my lovely friend meyo!! thank you so much meyo! there's angst because meyo and i are of the same mind :3c but don't worry, it's a happy ending. enjoy!

 

Oikawa stretches his arms above his head, makes a pleased noise at the feeling, and promptly flops across the papers strewn across the table. “Wow, this sure is hard work,” he says.

Iwaizumi walks behind him, two mugs of tea in his hands, and glances over Oikawa’s shoulder. He scowls and kicks Oikawa’s chair, making him yelp. “All you’ve done so far is write down everyone’s favorite food,” Iwaizumi says. “What kind of shitty excuse for a captain are you? Just _pick_ somewhere.”

“I want it to be the best meal ever, though!” Oikawa protests. “What kind of a captain would I be if I brought our team somewhere that didn’t serve their favorite food?”

Iwaizumi sets one of the mugs down in front of Oikawa’s slumped form. “You can’t please everyone, obviously,” he says. “No one would blame you for that. Our guys joke around, but they aren’t actually picky.”

Oikawa looks up at him, smiling. “And where would you like to go for graduation dinner?”

“I don’t care,” Iwaizumi grunts. “Food is food. I’m sure you’ll pick somewhere good, so I’ll defer to your judgement.”

A light flickers out behind Oikawa’s eyes and his smile turns brittle. Iwaizumi wants to punch something. He’s fucked up _again_.

Although, can he really put himself at fault when it was Oikawa—stupid, over-analytical Oikawa—that started this whole cycle? Why did he invite Oikawa over in the first place, when he knew it was going to turn out like this?

Oh, right, because Oikawa was supposed to be his best friend.

Oikawa turns to his tea, wrapping his hands around it and pressing his chin to the warm ceramic outside. He inhales and exhales peacefully, managing a small but real smile.

There, right there. What was Iwaizumi supposed to do with that? He’s never seen Oikawa act like that before. It was a completely new expression and new body language. After knowing each other since before they were able to attach names to people, Iwaizumi still hadn’t figured Oikawa out.

Oikawa had been doing this, this _experimentation_ with Iwaizumi lately, since Karasuno beat Shiratorizawa and they stopped going to volleyball practice as much. There were other things to focus on. Final exams, graduation, college preparation. A farewell dinner for the team. And in that time, before Iwaizumi could notice and put a stop to it, Oikawa had taken on a new persona, another layer to his already unfathomable layers of personality.

It wasn’t sulking about loss—that one was really obvious. Oikawa would either openly pout or try to hide his unhappiness by being extra cheerful, then space out during class. He’d spend extra time on the court. This was the reverse—he spent less time on the court and more time putting his full attention on school, not that his focus stopped him from flirting with girls and going to the arcade after school.

When Iwaizumi had asked about it, Oikawa confirmed his initial suspicion. He was just focused on his studies! Really, Iwa-chan, maybe you should focus, too. You wouldn’t want to get kicked out of university for bad grades before you even got there! Wouldn’t that be a shame…

Iwaizumi would have kicked his ass and left it at that if it weren’t for the questions. Oikawa had never been so damn interested in Iwaizumi’s opinion before. Wasn’t it a beautiful day today? What did Iwaizumi think of this kind of bread? If you could be any kind of animal, what would you be, Iwa-chan?

For the most part, Iwaizumi brushed off his questions, thinking it was just another ploy of Oikawa’s to annoy him, but every time he refused to give a sincere answer, Oikawa shut down, falling back into the fake smile and dark eyes. And every time Iwaizumi gave a sincere answer, he received a sincere but bittersweet smile, followed by Oikawa spacing out. Iwaizumi couldn’t win against this new Oikawa, and it was pissing him off.

“Look,” Iwaizumi says gruffly, sitting across from Oikawa. Oikawa peeks at him over his mug. God, why does Iwaizumi always have to do this? He’s bad at all the feelings shit. “If there’s something bothering you, you should just spit it out.”

“Aw, are you worried about me?” Oikawa says, laughing.

“You’re off,” Iwaizumi says flatly. “And you’re doing a shit job of hiding it, too, so you might as well just tell me.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Oikawa says, stretching again. “I just want to enjoy the last bit of my high school life before I have to go off to university and be a responsible adult.”

“You’re thrilled about going to college,” Iwaizumi snorts. “Don’t pretend otherwise.”

“You bet I am,” Oikawa says. “A new place and new people to charm—it sounds like an adventure and a challenge, doesn’t it?” His eyes sparkle. “New girls, new boys, new friendships, new hearts to break…what’s better than that?” He drops his eyes to the papers scattered across Iwaizumi’s living room table. “I just…want to hold on to this, just for a little while longer…”

He folds his hands in his lap and there’s that bittersweet smile again. Iwaizumi’s got it; he’s really almost got it. “I didn’t know high school meant that much to you,” Iwaizumi says awkwardly. He scratches his head. “It makes sense that you’d want this farewell dinner to go perfectly so I guess I’ll help you.”

And just like that, Oikawa’s walls snapped right back up. _Wrong again, Hajime_. “Well, I can’t let go of my fangirls and my fame so easily, can I?” Oikawa says, sticking his nose in the air. “I’ll have to start all over, building my base of adoring fans.” He sighs dramatically and throws an arm over his eyes. Typical Oikawa defense mechanisms.

“Good luck,” Iwaizumi says dryly. “You were able to fool high schoolers, but the college kids will see right through to your shitty personality and kick your ass.”

Oikawa’s jaw drops and he sticks out his bottom lip, pouting. “How could you say such cruel things, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi will have to wait it out.

Oikawa’s good at diversions. He’s good at tricks, made of smoke and mirrors. He can hide any emotion in a smile, a laugh, the wave of a hand. It takes years of chipping away at the marble walls he surrounds himself with to see through those hollow expressions. And once you get in, it’s very hard for you to get out. For Oikawa to let you out.

Iwaizumi thinks that Oikawa and Kageyama have that in common, although Oikawa would kill him for saying so. They’re both the loner type. The only difference is that Kageyama guards himself with steel. There are windows in Oikawa’s defenses, giving the illusion that you know him inside out, and that’s why he has as many admirers and friends as he does. But Iwaizumi can say with confidence that only the third years on the Seijou boys volleyball team have seen the real Oikawa.

And because of that, Oikawa couldn’t stay strong against Iwaizumi forever, and Iwaizumi knows it. It’s why he came over, even though he’s vulnerable; it’s why he let his defenses drop even for a moment. Iwaizumi breaks him down. Knows him inside out. And Oikawa can’t fight that for too long. Somehow, it always came back to him as Oikawa’s shoulder to cry on, ever since they were little kids.

Somehow, it always came back to Iwaizumi pulling Oikawa together again.

“I’ll wait,” he says. Oikawa tilts his head, eyes wide.

“I’ll wait for you to tell me what’s wrong, or let it slip, or whatever,” Iwaizumi says. “You make things too damn complex, especially when they don’t have to be. I’ve always been here for you.”

Oikawa’s eyes drop to the floor, long lashes fluttering. “Whatever you say,” he says softly.

Iwaizumi says, “Let me help you plan the dinner,” a peace offering.

“No way,” Oikawa says, laughing lightly. “The dinner is supposed to be planned by someone _reliable_ , not a style-less beefcake who still wears _socks and sandals_.”

“I’m pretty reliable at wringing your neck, I’d say.”

“Eek! Someone save me from this barbarian!”

Despite his complaints, Oikawa actually does utilize Iwaizumi as a resource. They talk itineraries—what days are the best for everyone. Not Tuesdays or Wednesdays; Matsukawa has a part-time job in the evening. Not Saturday or Sunday; Kindaichi has to babysit his siblings. They talk gifts—should the third years do an exchange? Or let their kouhai brings gifts? Maybe include everyone in the gift receiving as well as the giving? They talk locations—what they want to eat. Barbeque or fancy sushi or American or something really nice. Inside or outside. Dessert, yes or no.

Oikawa taps a pen against his lips. He wets them with his tongue and writes down a phone number of the restaurant to call. Iwaizumi watches his mouth move as he whispers the numbers under his breath. Oikawa brushes a strand of hair behind his ear.

He looks better, Iwaizumi decides and doesn’t examine the thought further.

When the dark clouds hanging overhead unleash their wrath and the rain starts to fall, it comes down in torrents, pelting along the roof of Iwaizumi’s house like a runaway cyclone. It’d been a while since they’d had a real, heavy rain. Iwaizumi thinks his mother’s garden could use the watering.

Oikawa looks up from his writing, looks out the window at the rain lashing the screen and running down the pane in fast-moving streams. A real smile plays at the edge of his lips.

“Iwa-chan,” he says.

“No,” Iwaizumi says.

Oikawa looks at him, light twinkling in his eyes even with heavy clouds clogging up the sky.

“ _No_ ,” Iwaizumi says, firmer.

“And how do you plan to stop me?” Oikawa says, eyes narrowing and smile growing across his face.

“Oikawa, you f—” Iwaizumi says, making to grab him, but Oikawa tumbles out of his chair and across the hallway to Iwaizumi’s front door, throwing it wide open and dashing out, Iwaizumi hot on his trail.

Oikawa doesn’t stop at the overhang, or at Iwaizumi’s gate—he hops over it gracefully and runs straight into the middle of the street. Iwaizumi, like a moon in Oikawa’s gravity, ducks his head and follows him out.

The rain soaks Iwaizumi to the bone instantly. He feels every bullet of rain leeching heat from his core and hunches his shoulders, growling like a wet cat. Oikawa doesn’t seem to feel it. He has his arms flung out, head tilted back and tongue sticking out like a preschooler, taking in the rain. When Iwaizumi approaches him, Oikawa blinks some of the water from his eyelashes and grins at Iwaizumi.

“So nice of you to join me,” he says, raising his voice in with the pounding of the rain soaking up the sound all around them.

“I hope a car hits you,” Iwaizumi half-yells back at him.

Oikawa throws back his head, laughing. Some of his hair flicks water into Iwaizumi’s face and he flinches. Oikawa sees that and snorts, an ugly, imperfect thing that makes Iwaizumi’s heart beat faster. He shakes his head like a dog, flicking a million droplets onto Oikawa. Oikawa squeals in surprise and backs away from Iwaizumi.

“Ew, you’re getting me wet!” Oikawa says.

Iwaizumi throws his arms up, gesturing to the massive downpour Oikawa had _forced them into_. “What did you expect, moron?” he yells.

Oikawa grins, holds out a hand. “Dance with me,” he says.

Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow, blinking around the rain. “In the middle of the street. In the rain.”

“Yes,” Oikawa says.

_What the hell_ , Iwaizumi thinks, some of Oikawa’s energy getting under his skin. _I’m wet anyway._ He takes Oikawa’s hand.

Oikawa pulls Iwaizumi close, holding his hip with his other hand and taking the lead before Iwaizumi even has a chance to fight for it. They don’t waltz—actually, their swaying around each other resembles a couple of drunk chickens rather than dancing. Or maybe it resembles two kids, not quite ready to step into adulthood, drunk on the energy of the storm, feeding off each other’s life and love.

Oikawa is warm. Iwaizumi thinks for a moment that with the rain stripping away all of their inhibitions and making them anew, this must be the very core of Oikawa, the center of all his walls, the part of Oikawa that makes him who he is. Iwaizumi presses close to that core, drinking in the exchange of their warmth. Oikawa sings some kind of ill-fitting pop song loud and out of tune, right in Iwaizumi’s ear, bouncing even as they dance, heartbeat strong enough for Iwaizumi to feel.

Iwaizumi forgets about Oikawa’s strangeness lately. He forgets about finals, and about graduation, and about graduation dinners and about going to university and about losing and about _what kind of ace am I_. In that moment, it’s just him and Oikawa and the feeling of being alive.

Iwaizumi grips his hand harder and twirls Oikawa in a circle, spinning him out before pulling him back in. Oikawa is laughing, laughing, _laughing_ so brightly that not even the rain can mask the sound. Iwaizumi spins him out again and Oikawa breaks from him, flopping down in the middle of the street, lying spread-eagled on the asphalt.

“Get up, you oaf,” Iwaizumi chastises, standing over him with hands on his hips.

“The street is so warm though,” Oikawa says, sighing and running his hands over the wet, black surface.

“You know what else is warm?” Iwaizumi says. “A bath.”

“A bath sounds nice,” Oikawa agrees. “So do warm fluffy towels.”

“You’re a child,” Iwaizumi says, but he offers a hand, pulling Oikawa to his feet. He can’t help it—he slings an arm around Oikawa’s shoulders, forcing Oikawa to hunch. Iwaizumi ruffles Oikawa’s hair and Oikawa _beams_.

Unwilling to make his entire house sopping wet, Iwaizumi hops across the floor to their linens closet and pulls out two towels. He darts back to the doorway, trying to track as little water through the house as possible. He throws a towel at Oikawa and they dry themselves down as much as they can, which isn’t much.

“I have an idea,” Oikawa says.

Iwaizumi doesn’t like the sound of that. “What,” he asks, deadpan.

As expected, it is a stupid idea.

They throw their towels on the floor and stand on them, shuffling across the tile to the bathroom like a couple of penguins.

“I hate you,” Iwaizumi says. “I hate this. I hate everything about this situation.”

Oikawa laughs. “Didn’t we do this when we came home from the pool in summer?” he asks.

“We were like _six_!” Iwaizumi cries. “We’re _eighteen_!”

“Still a good idea,” Oikawa says, turning the corner. He starts to shuffle faster. “Race you to the bathroom.”

Iwaizumi does not want to race Oikawa at _towel scooting_. He _doesn’t care_ if Oikawa wins his stupid little self-proclaimed game. He doesn’t care.But fuck if seeing Oikawa speed-scoot ahead of him doesn’t piss him off. He grudgingly—grudgingly!—speed scoots after Oikawa.

In the end, Oikawa wins, despite Iwaizumi pulling on his shirt and nearly wrestling him to the ground. They screech and yell and push and pull at each other and the hallway ends up much wetter than it would have been if they just walked to the bathroom.

Oikawa flops on the tile of the bathroom, panting and victorious. “I…won…” he says.

Iwaizumi flings the wet towel at his face and Oikawa flounders, yelling muffled. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and draws a bath for them. When he looks back, Oikawa is beaming. “What?” Iwaizumi asks.

“We haven’t had a bath together in ages,” Oikawa says, looking much happier about it than he had any right to be.

“Idiot,” Iwaizumi says. “We shower together all the time after practice.”

“Yeah, but that’s not the same,” Oikawa says.

“What, do you want us to take turns scrubbing each other’s hair like we used to or something?” Iwaizumi asks, pulling off his dripping shirt. Oikawa is uncharacteristically silent. Iwaizumi looks at him again and Oikawa is pink in his cheeks and along his neck. His mouth flaps uselessly.

Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow. “If you wanted me to wash you, you didn’t have to run out into the rain,” he says. “You could’ve just asked.”

“ _First off_ ,” Oikawa sputters. “That is _not_ why I wanted run in the rain and second, who _in their right mind_ would ask someone to wash their hair?”

“I don’t know,” Iwaizumi says. “Maybe you should ask the guy who ran off into the rain and will probably get a cold like an idiot.”

He pulls off his pants and wraps a towel around his waist. Oikawa glares at Iwaizumi’s face, pointedly not looking any lower. “What about the guy who followed after the rain guy like a lemming?” Oikawa sniffs.

“Someone has to look after you,” Iwaizumi says. Oikawa blinks and his face softens into something hopeful. _Right thing to say. Point Hajime._

Iwaizumi tugs at Oikawa’s shirt. “C’mon,” he says. “Let’s get you out of this sopping mess.”

“Oh, Iwa-chan, how forward of you,” Oikawa says, turning around and pulling off his pants. Iwaizumi snorts and hands Oikawa a towel to wrap around his waist, but he doesn’t miss how the pink on Oikawa’s neck goes red. Like before, Iwaizumi refuses to think on it long.

He sits Oikawa on a stool and pulls the showerhead down, running warm water over Oikawa’s shoulders and chasing away the cold rain. He flicks a little water onto himself every now and then to keep away shivers. The water courses down Oikawa’s head, flattening the hair that had gotten stuck up at odd angles when they had been wrestling through the hallway. A line of water runs down Oikawa’s cheek and drips in a steady stream from his chin.

Iwaizumi is very, very careful not to touch his skin too much.

He doesn’t have any of the fancy shampoos or conditioners that Oikawa probably had for his hair, so Oikawa would have to make do with the store brand stuff. Iwaizumi hangs up the showerhead and squeezes out some shampoo into his hand. He rubs it between his hands and then attacks Oikawa’s hair with fierce scrubbing and lathering. He rubs the shampoo all the way to Oikawa’s scalp and the roots of his hair. Oikawa sighs and leans into Iwaizumi’s hands. His body turns to jelly under Iwaizumi’s touch.

This is, actually, a very bad idea. Iwaizumi doesn’t like having Oikawa pliable and willing under his hands. It makes his mind go places it shouldn’t, think things it shouldn’t. Things he’s careful to tiptoe around and crush firmly under his foot. Iwaizumi had his walls, too. In protest of his heart’s thumping, Iwaizumi shapes Oikawa’s hair into a mohawk.

“Oh, very mature,” Oikawa says, but his voice is pleasantly slurred and sated.

“I think it suits you, even more so than Taketora,” Iwaizumi says, fighting a smile down.

“The _slander_ ,” Oikawa says, giggling. He reaches for the soap bar and scrubs his own body down while Iwaizumi washes all the suds from his hair.

“Get in the bath already,” Iwaizumi says. “I’m cold.”

“Shouldn’t I do you?” Oikawa asks sleepily.

Iwaizumi can both hear and feel the thud of his heartbeat. He’s sure Oikawa doesn’t know what he’s saying. “No, I’m a grown ass man and can take care of myself,” Iwaizumi says. 

Oikawa shrugs one shoulder and prepares to get into the bath. “Suit yourself. Don’t peek, okay Iwa-chan?”

“You are a ridiculous baby man,” Iwaizumi scoffs, but turns away dutifully, sitting on the stool himself and running water over his body. 

Oikawa sinks into the bath, looking completely at home. He loops his arms loosely over the edge of the tub and watches Iwaizumi wash himself through half-lidded eyes. “Man, Iwa-chan, you sure are a looker,” Oikawa says.

“Keep your eyes to yourself, you dirty pervert,” Iwaizumi says. 

“You’re almost as good-looking as me, so I’ll let you marry me,” Oikawa says.

“Thanks,” Iwaizumi says dryly.

“I’m gonna miss this,” Oikawa says, a bit quieter. 

“You sure are nostalgic today,” Iwaizumi says, scrubbing his own hair. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Just saying goodbye,” Oikawa says, even quieter.

“There are baths in Tokyo,” Iwaizumi says. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

Oikawa is silent for a moment. “You’re right,” he says. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” Crisp. Efficient. Like his jump serves. Oikawa stands from the bath and steps out, drying himself off.

Iwaizumi blinks. “Done already?” Oikawa loved to soak.

“Yeah,” Oikawa says without looking at Iwaizumi. “I’m done.”

Iwaizumi feels like he’s missed a beat. There was something in the conversation that evaded his grasp, and now he’s chasing the string helplessly, watching Oikawa curl tighter into himself and leave Iwaizumi feeling colder than he had in the rain. _Why, why couldn’t he understand Oikawa anymore?_

Oikawa is changed and flipping through a volleyball magazine when Iwaizumi emerges from his room, dressed and rubbing his towel through his hair. Oikawa doesn’t look up at him. Iwaizumi sits next to him pointedly.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “For whatever it is I’ve been doing that upsets you.”

“No, no, you’re right,” Oikawa says. “How silly of me, to get sentimental about a bath.”

Iwaizumi flinches. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“But you’re still right,” Oikawa says, snapping the magazine shut. “There are so many new things to do, so many new people to meet, so many new experiences to have, why am I getting caught up on a dumb bath? I’m sure you’ll fit right in at university, Iwa-chan.” His words strike Iwaizumi like bullets, like the cold rain.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Iwaizumi snaps.

“Nothing,” Oikawa says. “Just that you’re the mature type. You’re raring to get to university, aren’t you? Not held back by your high school years and immaturity. I’m sure you’ll meet lots of nice, mature people.”

“Yeah, I think I will,” Iwaizumi says. 

“You’re a looker, so I’m sure you’ll have quite the number of admirers,” Oikawa says, eyes bright again, but not with joy. “Pick a nice one for your first girlfriend, won’t you?”

“I don’t think so,” Iwaizumi says. 

“Why not?” Oikawa says. “You don’t have a volleyball team taking up all your time now. It’s the perfect opportunity. There’re no needy first-years, or troublesome second-years, or bothersome, sentimental third-years.”

“What is going on with you?” Iwaizumi snaps, standing up so that he can pace. “It’s like ever since we lost, I haven’t been able to understand you at all. You’ve been on a completely different wavelength from me. What happened to our unity? You’ve never let a loss affect you like this before. Is this it, Oikawa? Is this the end?”

Oikawa’s eyes shimmer, filling with water and spilling over while his gaze remains locked on Iwaizumi’s. “I love you,” he says. “But it means nothing to you.”

Iwaizumi’s mind goes very, very quiet. 

Oikawa stands without another word, heading for the door. 

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says, voice soft. Then, louder. “Wait, Oikawa. Wait!” He reaches out to grab Oikawa’s wrist. Oikawa’s entire body pulls away from him.

“How could something like that mean nothing to me?” Iwaizumi says softly.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Oikawa says, voice raw. “I’ve outlived my usefulness. Volleyball is _over_ , Iwa-chan. I’m not your setter and I’m not your captain, not anymore. You can stop pretending like we need to be friends. You can move on now.”

Oikawa tugs his wrist, but Iwaizumi’s grip tightens. “Do you really think I only wanted you for volleyball?” Iwaizumi asks.

“Think?” Oikawa laughs. “No, I don’t _think_. I _know_. We’re won’t be on the same team, let alone at the same university, and you don’t feel _anything_. Everything is ending and you don’t care at all.” He tugs harder at his wrist. “Let _go_.”

Iwaizumi tugs once, hard enough to make Oikawa stumble, and pulls him into his arms. Iwaizumi hugs him, tight enough that it must be uncomfortable. Oikawa doesn’t struggle, doesn’t hug him back, and Iwaizumi doesn’t let go. 

After a long moment, Oikawa’s shoulders start to shake. His hands find Iwaizumi’s elbows, and he presses his face into Iwaizumi’s shirt, letting the sobs wrack his body. 

“ _Why_ ,” Oikawa says. “It’s over, so why—”

“I’m sorry,” Iwaizumi says. “I’m…I’m bad at feelings. I’m sorry for not understanding yours sooner. It’s just—” He moves Oikawa back, holding him by the shoulders. Snot is running down Oikawa’s nose. His eyes are red and wet and runny. Iwaizumi brushes a tear from Oikawa’s cheek.

“It’s just,” Iwaizumi says. “For me, none of this was ending.”

“We’re graduating,” Oikawa says, “You can’t avoid that.”

“Will you stop loving me when we graduate?” Iwaizumi asks.

Oikawa flinches, but shakes his head, just a little bit. “No,” he says.

“Then why do you think this would end?” Iwaizumi says.

“But you don’t—” Oikawa starts to say, and is cut off by Iwaizumi leaning forward to kiss him.

“Don’t what?” Iwaizumi says, a smile curling at the edge of his lips.

“You—” Oikawa says.

“No offense,” Iwaizumi says. “But there’s no way I would have tolerated you this long just because of volleyball.”

Oikawa laughs wetly, new tears falling from his eyes. “You’re a big, fat jerk, Iwa-chan,” he says. He peeks shyly at Iwaizumi. “You really…really, me?”

“You know, after I spaced out staring at your ass for the third time, you think you would have realized,” Iwaizumi says. “Hanamaki and Matsukawa certainly did.” He presses his forehead to Oikawa’s. “And just for the record, even if I didn’t love you, different universities wouldn’t stop me from being your best friend.”

“So I worried so long for nothing,” Oikawa says, exhaling shakily.

“You always worry about nothing,” Iwaizumi says. “Although I wouldn’t call that ‘nothing.’ It’s my job to talk you out of that stress, you know.”

“I know,” Oikawa says. His eyes flicker to Iwaizumi’s mouth. “That—what you did—”

“A kiss?” Iwaizumi says, grinning.

“I hate you,” Oikawa says. 

“No you don’t,” Iwaizumi says, still grinning. “You’ve got a big gay crush on me.”

“Shut up,” Oikawa says, “and put your money where your mouth is.”

Iwaizumi kisses him again, this time with hands in his still-wet hair, digging in and pulling Oikawa against him. Oikawa tilts his head presses his tongue against Iwaizumi’s lips. It is at that moment that Iwaizumi remembers Oikawa has actually had many girlfriends, has kissed many girlfriends, and is infinitely better than Iwaizumi at this.

As if sensing his hesitation, Oikawa pulls back, laughing against his lips. “Here,” Oikawa says. “I’ll show you. Follow my lead.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t really like the idea of following Oikawa anywhere after the rain incident, but at the end of the day, Oikawa had never really led him astray. Oikawa tugs at Iwaizumi’s lips until they become loose and pliant under his touch. Iwaizumi shivers, pressing closer against Oikawa. Oikawa swipes his tongue over Iwaizumi’s lips, tentatively pressing in. Iwaizumi lets him. Then Oikawa tilts his head, presses harder, and oh. _Oh_. This was kissing. 

Iwaizumi leans up chasing Oikawa’s mouth and his tongue, pressing their mouths together in a wet, loving mess. Oikawa’s lips are as soft as his skin looks, and the stubble on their chins brushes together and sends shivers down Iwaizumi’s spine.

Oikawa pulls his tongue back, but Iwaizumi doesn’t let him, sucking on Oikawa’s tongue for a moment longer before letting go. Oikawa’s eyes widen with surprise and delight. “You’re a quick learn—oh!”

Iwaizumi doesn’t give him time to talk. He kisses Oikawa’s jaw, down his neck, mouthing at his pulse point. Oikawa tilts his head back, immediately obedient under Iwaizumi’s touch. Iwaizumi can feel Oikawa’s heartbeat under his tongue. Experimentally, he runs his teeth over Oikawa’s neck and Oikawa moves against him in a very pleasing way. Iwaizumi does it again, and then he sucks hard on Oikawa’s skin, pulling it into his mouth.

“Shoulda… _ha_ …known you’d like it rough,” Oikawa pants. Iwaizumi sucks harder, and Oikawa whines in pleasure.

“I want to give you something,” Iwaizumi says. He eyes the mark and nods, satisfied with himself. This kissing business wasn’t that hard.

“A hickey?” Oikawa says, amused.

“No,” Iwaizumi says. “Something more important.” He takes Oikawa’s wrist again and leads him to the couch. 

Oikawa’s eyes widen. “Iwa-chan—”

“Shush,” Iwaizumi says gently. “I’m not done talking yet.”

He pushes Oikawa onto the couch, on his back. Oikawa lets him, sprawling attractively across the cushions. Iwaizumi climbs over his hips, straddling him. 

“I want to give you something kind of like a promise,” Iwaizumi says. “Since you’re so prone to doubting my feelings for you.” 

Oikawa pouts but doesn’t say anything.

“Oikawa, I—” Iwaizumi sucks in a breath. “I haven’t ever done anything like this, so…I want you to be my first.”

Oikawa flushes. “Oh,” he says in a small voice. He looks at his hands. “Um, but you know—with a boy, I’ve never—”

“I know,” Iwaizumi says. “That’s why it’s special. Is..is that okay?”

“That’s okay,” Oikawa says. “Are you gonna—”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says. “I’ll do it.”

Iwaizumi unbuttons and then unzips Oikawa’s pants. The sound is deafening in the otherwise quiet house. Iwaizumi runs a tentative hand down the front of Oikawa’s boxers. 

“Oh,” Iwaizumi says, sucking in a breath. “You’re really—”

“ _Yes, thank you Iwa-chan, I am aware I’m very hard_ ,” Oikawa hisses, covering his face with his hands. “I…like hickeys a lot.”

Iwaizumi’s fingers trace the shape of Oikawa’s cock. His boxers are a little wet at the tip. Oikawa is longer but thinner than him. Iwaizumi had known this from showering after practice and even the bath today, but to touch it…that was something else.

“Wow,” Iwaizumi says.

“Please stop staring at my penis,” Oikawa begs.

“Okay,” Iwaizumi says. He pulls back the material of Oikawa’s boxers, feathering touch over the skin of Oikawa’s cock. He’s warm and wet. Oikawa’s hips shift when Iwaizumi touches him. He doesn’t need Oikawa to say it.

Iwaizumi wraps a hand around Oikawa’s cock and Oikawa groans, still covering his face. Iwaizumi pumps him slowly, painfully slowly, feeling the details of his length for the first time. He tightens his grip and Oikawa gasps, arching into Iwaizumi’s grip. 

Iwaizumi grins. “I like you like this,” he says.

Oikawa peeks through his fingers. “Oh yeah?” he says. And then he’s sitting up, hands moving towards Iwaizumi’s buttons, to his zipper. Oikawa wastes no time in pulling down his boxers and touching Iwaizumi. 

Having never been touched by someone other than himself, Iwaizumi swears aloud, slamming his free hand against the couch. Oikawa goes fast and hard to start, and Iwaizumi can feel himself weakly grinding into Oikawa’s hand. Then Oikawa stops dead and Iwaizumi groans.

“Together,” Oikawa says, propping himself up on one arm.

“Together,” Iwaizumi agrees.

They move against each other, knuckles brushing when they pump each other’s cocks. Iwaizumi presses their foreheads together so he can catch every twist and gasp escaping from Oikawa, and Oikawa can hear his whispered curses. 

They keep different paces according to what the other responds to. Oikawa likes a hard grip and slow strokes; Iwaizumi likes it fast and rough. Sweat drips between them and their breaths mingle in clouds Iwaizumi swears he can see. When Iwaizumi’s breath speeds up, he knows it’s coming. He pumps Oikawa hard, as if by doing so, it will push him over the edge.

In a way, it does. Oikawa feels his desperation and goes as hard as he can, making Iwaizumi’s hips spasm against his and stroking the entirety of his orgasm from him. Iwaizumi nearly collapses against him, thumb brushing roughly over the head of Oikawa’s cock.

“Iwa—Iwa-chan, _please_ ,” Oikawa begs.

Iwaizumi manages to jerk Oikawa hard and _fast_ , so fast that Oikawa’s body jolts like he’s been struck by electricity, crying out when Iwaizumi pushes him over the edge. Oikawa goes completely limp, Iwaizumi slumping on top of him. They take a long moment to catch their breaths.

Iwaizumi looks up at Oikawa, grinning. “I was good,” he says, proud of himself.

“Your cum is all over me,” Oikawa complains.

“Where did you want me to put it?” Iwaizumi scoffs.

Oikawa gets a curious, curious glint in his eyes and tilts his head to the side. Iwaizumi’s cheeks burn like fire. 

“I wasn’t—I wasn’t insinuating—” he chokes.

“Next time,” Oikawa says. “If just talking about it makes you this embarrassed, I can’t imagine what you’ll look like when I suck your cock.”

Iwaizumi groans, but catches himself part way through. “Oikawa,” he says. “You said ‘next time.’”

Oikawa blinks. “I…I did,” he says.

“We can try something new next time,” Iwaizumi says. “And the time after that, and the time after that, and the time after that…”

“You’ve made your point,” Oikawa grumbles. “No more talk of this ending from me.”

“I’ll love you, even at a different university,” Iwaizumi says, holding out his pinky finger. “You’ll always be my setter.”

Oikawa smiles, soft and real. “And you’ll always be my ace,” he says. He locks pinkies with Iwaizumi and shakes.


End file.
